Eye of the Storm
by xffan-2000
Summary: Written for the 2016 Rumbelle Challenge, Round 2. Prompts: Day at the beach, stormy seas, deep in the forest. This story takes a very slight detour after "The Land without Magic." Written under the penname "The Droid You're Looking For."
EYE OF THE STORM

By: xffan_2000 (Written as "The Droid You're Looking For" for the 2016 Rumbelle Challenge.)

Author's Note: Written for the 2016 Rumbelle Challenge, Round 2. Prompts: Day at the beach, stormy seas, deep in the forest. This story takes a very _slight_ detour after "The Land without Magic."

O-O-O-O-O

Rumplestiltskin thought it would be instantaneous. He'd dropped the True Love potion into the well, resulting in a purple cloud that would spread through the entirety of Storybrooke and he'd felt tendrils of magic tickle his senses for the first time in twenty-eight years. But as he led Belle from deep in the forest back to his car, he still, frustratingly, couldn't access magic. It was _right there_ …but not.

Now, he sat in his study, his eyes closed as he plunged his mind into the metaphysical depths. Magic was near, like a life raft floating just beyond his reach. He swam toward it, clawing for a handhold, but a wave rose up between him and his goal, shoving him back. He mentally sputtered and plunged forward again, only to be knocked away once more.

He tried again.

And again.

"Rumplestiltskin?"

His eyes opened and took in the miraculous sight of Belle leaning against the doorframe of his study, bundled in his thick robe, a gentle smile on her face. No longer did she look starving and bedraggled from her asylum stay. Before he'd secluded himself to locate his magic, he'd provided her with a warm bath and hot soup, of which she had apparently made use. The tiny bit of himself that was rational had hoped she'd stay tucked away in the guest room for the remainder of the night.

The rest of his irrational self was delighted she'd deigned to return to his presence. She was like an island in the squalls of his psyche. He stood, abandoning his struggle to reclaim magic and turned to her welcoming shores. His cane in hand, he approached. Perhaps she was nothing more than a figment of his imagination, a siren calling him away from his task; but having her back from the dead was too wondrous and he couldn't stop himself from reaching out to stroke her cheek.

She was warm and soft and so very _real_. She leaned into his touch, letting him linger far longer than he deserved, as her blue eyes wandered over his face.

"You look different," she said, her hand reaching up to caress his cheek as he had hers.

"Not much better than the green, scaly beast you remember," he said, as her fingers continued to ghost across his nose, his brow, his hair, his lips.

"Just different," she said. "I've always found you handsome."

He let out an unintended and undignified snort. "Only you would have it in your heart to find beauty in such ugliness."

As they gazed at one another, he could see when her thoughts turned inward.

"You brought magic," she said.

"Yes."

"But you look…" She scrutinized him again, then said, "…oh."

That one syllable conveyed such utter devastation that it nearly sank him. Before he could question her, her eyes sprang wide open.

"Oh!" She pulled his hand, tugging him toward the front door. "We need to go. Quickly!"

He held fast to her, not letting her run. "Go where?"

"To that…dungeon…where the queen held me."

"Whatever for?"

"She may be there."

"Believe me," he growled, "I will be dealing with Regina."

"Not the queen. _Her_."

"You're not making sense, Belle."

"If the queen held me, she probably has _her_ , too." She tugged him toward the door again. "We need to rescue her."

" _Who_ is 'her'?"

"Your true love. The one who broke your curse."

Understanding washed over him like the surf hitting the beach. Rumplestiltskin shook his head.

"You truly would run head-long back into prison to rescue someone you've never met just to make me happy." He coaxed her into his arms and tucked her head under his chin. "Sweetheart, no one has broken my curse."

"But magic is here and you look…" He could hear the confusion in her voice.

"Human," he completed. "I am human. At least for the moment."

She pulled back and looked up at him. "I don't understand."

"Magic is different in this realm. I have brought it, but I can't reach it. It's out there and I have to find it. Or it may find me. Either way, I expect to return to that dreadful-looking version of myself very soon."

"So, there is no true love?"

"Yes, there is." He smiled. "You."

She, too, smiled, her relief evident. "Does that mean, at least until you have magic again, that I can kiss you?"

He nodded, quite sure he was grinning like the imp he used to be.

She moved in slowly, like their first time, and touched her lips to his. Something in his chest lurched, a constriction akin to drowning. Rather than pulling away from her soft pressure, he rode out the panic and soon realized the sensation wasn't the Darkness screaming in rage, but rather his withered heart thumping to life. She started to draw back, but his heart surged, unwilling to let go of its lifeline. He took her face between his palms and plundered her mouth.

If she was smart – and he knew she was brilliant – she'd leave him as soon as the morning sun cracked the horizon. He wouldn't make her stay. He would, in fact, encourage her to go. But this one perfect kiss he could treasure for all his dark, lonely years to come.

Eventually, he pulled back, knowing he'd subjected her to far too much of his desire. He expected to receive a slap across his face. Instead, she appeared not the least bit offended at his forwardness. In fact, she tilted her head and moved toward him again.

"You should get some rest," he said, dodging her attempt. He couldn't continue, else he'd never be able to stop.

She did back up, but held his hand, tugging him toward the stairs. Her resolute expression scared him far more than any enemy he'd ever faced.

"Belle, you don't want…"

"I do." Her tone allowed for no argument.

So, he followed, cane in one hand, her hand in the other.

She led him to his room, where she untied her borrowed robe, revealing herself without preamble. As though he was buried up to his neck in the sand, he found he couldn't move, couldn't do any more than stare in stunned admiration. Her cheeks took on a pretty shade of pink, but she said nothing of any embarrassment. Her hands went to the buttons of his suit, beginning to divest him of his silk armor.

She stopped when she revealed his ruined leg, but she didn't ask what had happened. Rather, she laid kisses down his scarred shin as she removed his socks.

When they were both bare, she drew him to his bed, to her body. He crawled up her, as though she was that island beach, found the warmth of her, and basked in her warm presence.

He spent time pleasing her with fingers and lips and tongue, she squirming beneath his ministrations and making small sounds of pleasure that floated his heart. He would have happily spent the rest of his unnatural life doing exactly what he was doing, but she hauled him up, kissed him, and guided him to where he most wanted to be. As he was merely human, it didn't last as long as he wanted, but Belle was breathless and smiling.

After, as they lay facing one another, she touched his cheek.

"I can't believe you're really here," she breathed.

He felt his entire essence plunge into a gulf of guilt. He gathered her into his arms and tried to hide his tears by burying his face in her neck.

She caressed his back and shushed him. "We're together now. That's all that matters," she said.

Belle held him until he felt her slacken and he knew she'd succumbed to the exhaustion of the day.

He adjusted, taking her head to his shoulder. And thus she slept while he stared at the ceiling, knowing that soon either a wave of Darkness would swell up behind him and yank him into the abyss, or he would have to venture off the warm sands of her shores and once again dive into the stormy seas in search of his life raft.


End file.
